The fire crackled softly in the hearth, but Jasmine barely felt its warmth.
She sat at the long dining table, surrounded by murmurs and clinking silverware, but her focus was a thousand miles away. Her hand rested on her stomach, thumb brushing a slow circle over the curve. A quiet reassurance to herself as much as to the life within her.
Still no word. No news. No sign of Xaden. Her chest ached with a quiet, persistent dread.
The chair beside her scraped. Anna sat down with a flourish of her long sleeves, as if she were the lady of the house.
Jasmine didn't look at her.
"My, you look pale," Anna said sweetly, reaching for a glass of wine. "How are you feeling, Jasmine? And the baby?"
"The baby's fine," Jasmine replied flatly, not bothering to meet her gaze.
"Oh, that's good to hear," Anna said, with that insincere smile she wore like perfume — suffocating and fake. "We were all so worried after your… accident."
